


my defeated heart (has got nothing to hide)

by reversedhymnal (Hymn)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Linear Narrative, Reno POV, a fic that is about nothing in particular i suppose, also relationship study?, anything, does not strictly adhere to any canon lol, getting together???, if i missed a tag i really need to warn for pls let me know, liberties absolutely taken, not fluffy, not representative of a healthy relationship or like, post-FFVII ending, post-meteorfall, reno's foul ass mouth, this is absolutely not at all what i meant to write lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/reversedhymnal
Summary: The sun is starting to set and the sky is remarkably beautiful outside Kalm’s city limits—all sheer blues and purples sown with stars like white diamonds. No Meteor to be seen. No evidence that they’re all trapped in a living nightmare, struggling to break free. Cloud’s pale as a ghost in the rising dark, all white skin and blonde hair, eyes that glow like some feral cat left in an alley to starve.Reno can’t stop staring at him.
Relationships: Reno/Cloud Strife
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	my defeated heart (has got nothing to hide)

**Author's Note:**

> tbh i've only ever played the first half of OG and the remake + watched AC, i don't fucking know where this fic came from either okay i was just trying to write some porn and instead /waves hand around wildly
> 
> title is from the song The Loneliest Girl
> 
> eta: i feel like some better explanation of what you're in for may be in order, and it is: i've been thinking a lot about reno in the remake game saying "guess it's a little late to grow a conscience" and the scene later on in the office with tseng trying to make him and rude feel better about what they did + i watched a rather fun video on youtube about someone delving into the Turks and i dunno, here we are I AM REALLY SORRY IF IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE writing non-linear stories is not a thing i usually do because i am NOT V GOOD AT IT, best of luck intrepid readers

  
  
  
  
  
  
\---

He finds the flyer stuck to the bottom of his shoe. It’s some cheap print out, boring as fuck to look at. Reno nearly crumples it into a ball without scanning the words, but a line of plain black text catches his attention—Strife Delivery Service, it says.

“The fuck,” Reno whispers.

He’s all the way in Costa del Sol, overseeing the new refugee housing Tuesti begrudgingly allowed Rufus to oversee. Been a shit trip, but Reno’s too tired these days to even care much about missing out on golden sand and bikinis. Not enough fruity cocktail drinks in what’s left of the world to wash the grit of guilt out of his mouth. He’s got two more days here and then he’s back in the sky, toward Kalm and its overflow of newly homeless.

He can’t really believe what he’s reading, is the thing.

There’s a number on the bottom of the page, and Reno pulls his PHS out and dials. It rings three times before a determinedly chipper voice answers: “Thank you for calling Strife Delivery Service! You name it, we deliver it. What can I—”

Reno flips his PHS shut.

“Huh,” he says. 

It’s been five weeks since a meteor nearly destroyed their entire planet, and Cloud Strife not only stopped Sephiroth and saved the world, but he’s started a new business. Productive little shit. Reno folds the flyer up into a neat square before tucking it into his wallet. He gets back to work.

\---

Somehow or another, the remaining populace of Midgar stops the worst of the bleeding. Those who stayed on site set up a camp of sorts, a cluster of tents for shelter, food, medical supplies. Reeve Tuesti, with the help of Yuffie Kisaragi, organizes the influx of relief workers sent from Wutai. They worked their asses off for two weeks, never stopping, barely breathing beneath the smoke. 

Despite himself, Reno is impressed. 

“They can’t keep it up though,” he tells Rude, tapping his Electro-Mag Rod nervously against his leg. 

“What else can they do?”

Reno shakes his head, and it’s almost strange to feel so jittery after so long feeling numb, hollowed out by fire and screams and the stench of death and mako. He wonders, now, how much of that was pure exhaustion and shock from the scope of the devastation, and how much of it was fear of the future—Tseng’s call that Rufus is stable felt like the first easy breath since Meteor appeared in the sky. 

He says, “Fall apart. Lose their damn _minds_ , partner, that’s what else! Even heroes need some time off from all this noble, back-breaking shit to blow off steam. Bet you 300 Gil they rebuild Wall Market within a week.”

“Hm.” Rude cocks his head, examining the busy tents. “A month.”

A week and a half later Rude pays Reno the 300 Gil, which Reno then pours back into the economy, such as it is. When Elena had needed help sleeping, they’d had to threaten a guy to find booze. Now, they just head west to a smaller pocket of tents, lit up with torches and stinking of beer, liquor, desperation.

“Ahh,” Reno sighs, slinging an arm around a woman’s shoulders. “Humanity at its finest, ain’t it?”

“20 Gil if you want a blow job,” is her response.

\--- 

By the time WRO’s satisfied with Reno’s paperwork, Reno’s bored out of his mind and a tad insulted—“You _do_ know that I’m not some low ranking chump, right?” he asks halfway in, shoulders loose and hands tucked into his pockets like he’s _not_ thinking about how easy it would be to kick Tuesti’s ass—and by the end of it all he can think about is Strife.

The number on that flyer he found in Costa del Sol had a Kalm area code, he remembers. 

It’s a dumb as fuck thing to do, but as soon as Reno’s off the clock he’s out and searching, determined to find Strife and see for himself what’s become of their hero. Not that most people know about that, or care. Everything’s bad enough still that heroes seem a fantasy; if they really existed, then none of this would have happened in the first place.

Reno gets that. He _knows_ what Strife did, or at least some of it. But Reno’s been around people too much to believe in goodness and light and all that. 

Strife’s fucked up. Most so-called heroes are, to be honest.

It takes most of the day to hunt down Strife Delivery Service. Reno’s not really the Turk you send out for intelligence gathering unless you _want_ someone bleeding by the end of it, is the thing. Since the boss is dead set on playing repentant sinner for now, Reno’s low on options and lacking in skill, but he gets there eventually.

“Well, this is charming,” he mocks immediately upon entry.

The makeshift shelter is all plywood and sheets of metal cobbled together. Looks like a stiff wind might blow it down, and it stinks of too many bodies, of desolation and anxiety. Reno hates it even more than the makeshift camp of tents surrounded by Midgar’s dead.

No one pays Reno and his sass any mind. 

He doesn’t find who he’s looking for, though he finds the lot number that’s meant to be Cloud’s. The neighbors on either side say that they’ve never seen who the space belongs to; have spread out to take up the emptiness. “Tifa might know,” says one. “She helps out Mr. Tuesti some, but refuses to stay with the WRO officials. Heard her say she’s trying to start up a business or somethin’, her and that pretty boy. Deliveries and shit.”

“Don’t know why,” says the other. “No one left to send anything to.”

Reno tries not to groan. “Great. _Thanks_. Your help sucks. Could you at _least_ point me in the direction of Tifa? Or this delivery service. They have to have some place for people to drop off their deliveries, right?”

“Sure. Head south. Can’t miss it.”

Half an hour later Reno’s feet ache and he’s sweating beneath his collar. “ _South_. Sure, yeah, _great fucking directions!_ How about I shove your head so far south you never see the light of day again, you _asshole_.”

“Pleasant as always,” Strife says.

Reno’s on alert in an instant, liquid inside his skin. His Electro-Mag Rod crackles to life in a ready grip, even as he aims for a casual, only vaguely mocking tone: “Ah, and _there he is_ , ladies and gentleman. Mr “First Class” himself, still alive and kicking. I _had_ wondered.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?” Reno drawls. “Not good enough for you any longer?”

Frowning, Cloud looks back over his shoulder. He’s standing guard at the side of the dirt road Reno was traveling. Beyond him is what looks like a simple set up: a single tent, a campfire, a few wood crates set aside—probably where he keeps pending deliveries. There are voices coming from the tent, too quiet for Reno to discern any words, and a beat up motorcycle is parked on the other side of the fire, a massive sword leaning against its seat.

When Strife turns back, he’s still frowning. “Not actually SOLDIER. So I’m not First Class anything.”

“No shit,” Reno says.

“Yeah,” Cloud sighs. “Though _you_ still seem to be a first class asshole.”

Despite himself and all the walls he’s thrown up, all the defenses he normally clings to, Reno’s startled into a bark of laughter. He’s quick to catch it behind his teeth, baring them at Cloud in a facsimile of a smile. But it’s too late; Strife looks bemused, like he hadn’t thought Reno knew _how_ to laugh. 

First class asshole, indeed.

\---

During the days immediately following the Midgar evacuation, Reno spends most of his time in helicopters. For the first eighteen hours after the plates all finish falling, Reno doesn’t even stop when his bird needs refueling. Just steps off one aircraft and directly into another, up in the air with a roving searchlight, trying to find survivors. 

It’s grim business that just gets grimmer once the fires go out. The evacuees that haven’t fled to Kalm begin wading through the rubble, searching for anything worth saving. Bodies line the outside of Midgar’s once proud wall. 

“I can’t sleep,” Elena confesses. “The nightmares start as soon as I close my eyes.”

 _Welcome to the Turks_ , Reno thinks. The circumstances might be a little different, but the nightmares are there for everyone eventually. And for those who sleep easy, well—Reno’s smart enough to steer clear when he can. “We’ll get you drunk,” is what he says. “So fucked you sleep like a baby.”

Elena’s eyes get wide. “Yes, _please_.”

Rude shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue. He’s been here, too, after all. 

It’s Tseng who might have argued, pragmatic to a fault. But Tseng isn’t here; he’s somewhere else with the burnt up remains of their boss, trying to keep their legacy alive. Reno’s not sure why he’s trying so hard—they were Turks, sure, but the whole damned world is broken. What’s left for them without ShinRa? Nothing except nightmares, and Reno wonders more and more what he’s doing here, why he keeps going through the motions.

He could slip away. Run somewhere. Pretend he’s someone else, start up a new life and a new career. But Reno’s been a Turk for so long, he doesn’t know who that someone else might be. Reno’s done some real fucked up shit in his life, and being a Turk is the only thing that’s ever made it acceptable. 

\---

“Hey,” Reno asks outside Gongaga. “Which of them do you like? You know, if you _had_ to pick.”

\---

The sun is starting to set and the sky is remarkably beautiful outside Kalm’s city limits—all sheer blues and purples sown with stars like white diamonds. No Meteor to be seen. No evidence that they’re all trapped in a living nightmare, struggling to break free. Cloud’s pale as a ghost in the rising dark, all white skin and blonde hair, eyes that glow like some feral cat left in an alley to starve.

Reno can’t stop staring at him.

They’re still in a pseudo stand-off, the dirt road between them like a line drawn. Reno on one side, Cloud on the other. His Electro-Mag Rod is still on and humming, though Cloud hasn’t unfolded his arms. He looks worn down, waxy. Like a candle burned low.

“What are you doing here, Reno?” 

Reno would like to know the answer to that as well—there wasn’t a lot of planning that went into this little side trip of his. This isn’t for work; it’s for _himself_. “Oh, you know,” he blusters, wagging his weapon like a disapproving finger. “Heard about your little start up. Thought I’d stop by, check in. See if you’re, uh, you know…”

Insects start chirping, the air abuzz with it. Strife sighs, resettling his weight while Reno gropes for an end to that sentence. He can’t seem to find one.

“No, actually. I _don’t_ know.”

“I thought you were dead,” is what Reno blurts out. “How the fuck aren’t you _dead_ , Strife?”

It’s true enough. Reno’s been operating under the certainty that nobody, no mater how suped up on mako and Jenova cells, could survive Sephiroth, Meteor, _and_ the whole fucking planet gone nutso. No one was that good at surviving. The fact that Cloud had somehow managed to _win_ against those odds had only made Reno more certain that it’d only been achieved at the cost of his life.

To Reno’s annoyance, Cloud only looks amused by the idea of his own mortality. “Just bad luck, I guess.”

“Oh. Oh, _fuck_ you. I looked for you in Midgar, asshole! After the evacuation, I…” Reno doesn’t know what he’s saying, why he’s saying it. He doesn’t want to talk about that: the lonely flights above the sectors, the mangled bodies they tried to identify, the way the panic couldn’t be sustained; how it gnawed all the life from your bones and ate you from the inside out, so all you had left was a lingering ache and emptiness, a morbid sense of waiting for the inevitable.

He’d known Cloud had to be dead, but it hadn’t stopped him from searching.

Reno wonders if madness can feel like this. An itching beneath the skin. A restless, reckless ache that yawns open wide in the pit of your chest, threatening to crack you right down the middle. 

“Yeah, well. Shit was tough right after.” Finally, the amusement has dropped from Cloud’s face. His eyebrows form an angry looking squiggle of confusion and his shoulders tense, like the weight they’re under has suddenly become unbearable. “I wasn’t dead, but I was close. Went to Kalm to recover. It… How is it?”

Reno has to force his jaw to unclench. “How’s what?”

“Midgar.”

“Flattened like a pancake of death,” Reno offers. Smiles, thin and mean, when Strife flinches. “Already has the start of a city happening near the edge though. Might want to check it out. You know, if any of your _delivery errands_ bring you near.”

Cloud’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

All Reno can do is shrug. “ _Relax_ , Strife. The boss hasn’t said shit about you. Nothing nefarious going on, or whatever it is you _think_ I’m up to this time.”

“Wait. Rufus isn’t dead?”

“Bad luck,” Reno agrees, winking. Cloud huffs, rolling his own eyes, and before he can issue a follow up Reno changes the subject. “So, you’re really doing this? This whole delivery business? Just, what. Save the world, nearly die, start a new career?”

“Yeah,” Cloud agrees. “Pretty much.”

 _Why_ , Reno wants to know. _Why this? Why was it so easy for you to walk away, to start something new?_ But even if Cloud has a decent answer—unlikely, given his penchant for curtness—it isn’t going to do Reno any good. It won’t _matter_ , not really. 

It’s stupid that he’s even here.

All at once, Reno clicks off his Electro-Mag Rod, pocketing it easily. “All righty,” he says, rolling his neck until it cracks. “See you around, I guess.”

“Uh, yeah. See you.”

\---

“Welcome back,” Rude says. 

Reno ignores him, settling into the pilot’s seat. Goes through the start sequence and then just sits there a moment, the world getting crowded with the cacophony of the blades coming to life. Rude waggles Reno’s headset in front of him, and Reno takes it but doesn’t put it on immediately, staring out the cockpit window at the squat building he just exited. Clinical, sterile, tucked away on a lonely bit of mountainside. You’d hardly suspect that Rufus Shinra is convalescing inside, armed with a strategic mind, a shit ton of burns, and at least four Turks to do his bidding.

“Guess this is it, isn’t it, partner?” Reno says, and the words feel clumsy, taste of ash. “Fuck, the world as we knew it might have ended, but nothing’s changed for us, has it?”

Rude taps the headset still in Reno’s hands.

Sighing, Reno settles it onto his ears, adjusting the mic. “I _said_ that the boss looks creepy as fuck. All wrapped up in bandages like some sort of mummy. Guess it’s a good thing he’s got handsome individuals such as ourselves to put in the limelight.”

“He has a job for us already?”

“Sure,” Reno says, lazy as anything. “Whole list of shit to tick off. Vacation’s officially over.”

\---

Up in the air, the roads all look desolate. They’re just these empty, endless ribbons of hard-packed dirt, exit signs left to rust, forgotten by the people who made them. Monsters roam, the wind blows, and sometimes, when Reno’s up in the chopper and staring down at all that loneliness, he thinks about mako-warped eyes. 

“What’re you looking for?” comes Elena’s voice, crackling through the headset.

Reno shakes his head. “Nothing,” he tells her, and hopes she buys the lie. “There’s nothing out here to even look at. Everyone’s scared shitless, no wonder the economy’s tanking.”

“Ha! You’ve been shadowing the boss too much!”

She’s right, and Reno hates hearing Rufus’ one-sided phone calls, though he always listens in. But it’s been a month since he found the flyer and he’s still thinking about Cloud Strife and his one-man delivery agency. Like the idiot’s struggling to reconnect all the frayed edges brought on by Meteorfall, and maybe if he travels the abandoned roads often enough they’ll be mended, the world made anew—but Reno’s laying money on Cloud being the one who needs mending by the end.

Even as he picks up speed he hadn’t been aware of losing, angling the cyclic to get back on course for Junon, Reno can’t help but to keep searching, looking for a streak of steel hurtling across the wastelands. 

\---

“Anything else to report?” Rufus asks, voice a raspy thing.

Reno’s in a chair by the window, tipped back on two legs and thinking about freedom. He’s just returned from Kalm, updating Rufus about how things went with Tuesti and the Costa del Sol refugee bill. “Cloud Strife’s still alive,” he offers, barely hesitating. “Shacking up in Kalm with Tifa Lockhart at the moment. Don’t know about the rest of the loser brigade. They’re starting a _delivery service_ , if you can believe it.”

There’s a pause.

Reno waits to hear the kill order, or for Rufus to decide that, whatever Cloud actually is, having someone with SOLDIER skills could be an asset. _Bring him in_. It’s on the tip of Reno’s tongue to warn Rufus not to ask it of him; that Reno’s track record with Strife is far from the best. _I let him go_ , he almost admits. _I can’t promise I won’t do it again_.

 _Send me after him_ , he almost begs.

But all Rufus says is, “How nice for them,” and, “Now, about that rumor coming out of Junon…”

\---

“Hey,” Reno asks outside Gongaga. “Which of them do you like? You know, if you _had_ to pick.”

“Uh. You mean—?”

Rude’s so dull sometimes. Reno wouldn’t trade him for anything, but still, he doesn’t have to look so _shocked_ by the question. “Who do you think is prettiest?” he asks, tone sly and sharp. “Who do you want to _fuck_ , Rude? Which one?”

Some SOLDIERS and even some Turks have a tendency to get horny after battle—adrenaline, the thrill of being alive, whatever the fuck it is that causes it, Reno doesn’t know. He’s never really been the type. But he’s not used to getting his ass repeatedly handed to him by some cold bitch with a mouth on him, either. Reno holds himself still, mostly because he wants to bounce on his toes, jittery all over.

Rude’s flustered, face pinched. “There’s not really…”

“No?” Reno leers. “No big, massive pair of tits you’d like to—”

Rude slaps a hand over Reno’s mouth, the leather of his gloves thick against Reno’s tongue. “Tifa!” Rude yelps. “I like Tifa!”

Reno cackles.

Sighing, Rude releases him. Steps back and straightens the cuffs of his jacket, tidies his tie. There’s a flush to his face, though, a nervous bob of his throat. “Why,” he asks. “Someone _you_ like?”

Reno thinks of Strife’s bitchiest expression, the way the ex-SOLDIER had almost killed him without blinking at the church in Sector Five, how quick he is to get under Reno’s skin and how badly Reno wants to get a hand into the bastard’s hair and twist until he cries out, to make him hurt, to make him bleed or beg or…

“Nah,” Reno drawls. “Nothing like that.”

\---

He doesn’t see anything save roaming monsters for weeks, which is pretty impressive considering how busy Rufus manages to be, for all that he’s still confined to a hospital bed. Reno flies from Midgar to Corel to Wutai and back, sometimes with passengers, oftentimes alone. The imprint of his goggles starts to linger, cutting across the top point of his tattoos. 

He keeps looking for Cloud.

He thinks: _there’re only so many roads, so much distance to travel. I’ve gotta run across him eventually, right?_ Just a matter of time before their paths cross again, and this time when they do, _this time_ , Reno’s going to—

Something.

He’ll figure it out when it happens.

He’s not even certain why he cares so much, why it bothers him. He didn’t lie to Rude that long ago day in Gongaga: he doesn’t _like_ Cloud, not really. But Reno’s been clocking in hours of overtime and almost all of it up in the air, the thrum of the chopper more familiar than his own heartbeat, and time begins to feel strange. Thinking becomes more visceral than anything; sharp staccato certainties softening, melting into dreamy softness, transforming into impressions as hazy as the clouds. All he knows is that Strife has always gotten to him, under his skin and in his bones like a sickness. 

_I want to break you apart_ , he’s thought before. _I want to kill you. I want to ruin you. I want to show you who I am, what I can do, that I’m not what you think, that I’m more than what you’ve seen, worth more than disgust, than hatred, that I don’t just wreak misery, I want_ —

They’d met when Reno was playing bodyguard, and yet he’s only ever felt like the villain between them. 

Of course, he should’ve known better. First time laying eyes on Strife and the man was all lit up with sunlight, surrounded by yellow and white flowers like some allegory, a painting come to life. The beauty of it suited him, even with the sword and the thousand-yard stare—the light and the flowers both, the crumbling but still striking arches and pillars of the church, the sense of holiness lying dormant there. 

Not a threat, but salvation.

Still, it burned to lose to him. Sent down to the slums on Hojo’s orders, Reno had foolishly thought he might play the hero for a moment, some genuinely good thing to make swallowing all the bitterness easier. He might’ve been there to secure an unwilling asset, but at least he’d get to play noble first, saving the princess from a sword-for-hire.

What bullshit.

All of it, complete and absolute bullshit.

Fucking figures, then, that Reno gets his chance to swoop in and save the day only when it’s too dark to see for shit and he’s been awake for nearly two days, tongue gone clumsy and far too exhausted to even enjoy the poetic justice, mood barely functional beyond exasperated annoyance. A pity, since Strife’s expression as he clambers into the chopper, rope ladder twisting in the wind as Reno brings them up, out of danger, is fucking _rich_. Those mako-tainted eyes probably have no trouble picking out the ShinRa Corporation logo on the side of Reno’s ride.

Strife grabs onto a holding strap as soon as he’s in, leaning back out to deflect a fireball or three. Reno gets the ladder retracted before any beasts can try and hitch a ride, hauling on the cyclic to get his bird moving out of range. Ten seconds, thirty seconds, and then it’s been a minute and it’s only Reno and Cloud and the dark sky, the empty roads so far below they don’t look like anything at all.

“Don’t jump,” Reno shouts. 

Strife probably responds, but it’s not like Reno can hear him. So he just jerks a thumb at the co-pilot’s seat, usually reserved for Rude or one of the other Turks. Surprisingly, Cloud slumps into the seat without reservation, or at least not any that Reno can see. Even finds the second headset, so that he can bitch, “I wasn’t going to _jump_ ,” right into Reno’s ears.

“So you say,” Reno replies. “But I’m aware how much you like me, maybe you’d prefer getting eaten by monsters, I don’t know!”

“You’re an idiot.”

Reno makes a face, irritation a weak, sluggish pulse. But that fades away almost immediately. He’s too busy flying a slow, careful circle. “An idiot who just _saved_ your ass, fuckface. What even was that thing?”

“Behemoth,” Cloud sighs, slumping farther into the seat. “Don’t fly too fast.”

There’s a lot to unpack in what Cloud just said, and as much as Reno would like to yell about a freaking _behemoth_ wandering loose not that far from the leftover wreckage of Midgar, he likes even more to be petty: “Hey, hey, I have _seen_ you drive before, okay, you can’t tell me to slow down! You don’t even know how to fly this baby, so I won’t be told—”

“I need to go back,” Cloud interrupts, and it’s a little funny how loud he has to be in order for Reno to hear him, the chopper too loud for his usual muttering to be heard, even on the headset. He’s practically shouting, and he looks plenty annoyed by it.

Reno squints at him. “What was that?”

“I said, I need to go back!”

Reno shakes his head, _tsk_ ing gently. Looks back out at the dark world beyond the cockpit. “Whaaaat?”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Cloud snaps. “I know you can hear me!”

Even tired as he is, Reno can’t help but laugh. “You’ve got a shorter fuse than I remembered! Now, care to explain _why_ you need to go and sacrifice yourself to a behemoth? There are better ways to die, y’know.”

“If I don’t kill it—”

“Because I mean, you could just let me radio this in,” says Reno, and he knows he sounds like a fucking smug asshole, but he doesn’t really give a shit. He _is_ a fucking smug asshole, after all. “We can follow that fucker from a safe distance until a team arrives to dispatch it. But if you _insist_ on trying to tackle a behemoth on your own, in the dark, when you probably haven’t slept in...well, I don’t really know, but considering your martyr complex I’m going to guess a _while_. So yeah, just let me know which you prefer, I can drop the ladder back down so you at least survive long enough to get eaten.”

The silence that follows has a weird weight to it, and Reno looks back at Cloud despite knowing that he shouldn’t. 

It’s like a kick right in the chest, the way Cloud’s considering him, as if he can’t quite comprehend what Reno’s saying. _Why would you care?_ is obvious in the frown on his face, _Why would you help?_ in the furrow of his brow. Like he’s forgotten that Reno and his team were never the true villains of his story. For all that Reno has done to help him, it’ll never be enough to wash all his sins clean. 

Reno knows this, usually. 

Voice quieter, more raw than he would like, Reno says: “Ah. I forgot how little you think of us. That’s fine though, that’s fine. Not all of us get to be retired heroes, after all. _Some_ of us have to clean up the mess you leave behind.”

“Hey, don’t blame me for—”

“Then don’t blame _me_ for—”

“I’m not!” Cloud yells, folding his arms over his chest and slumping down even further, the two swords still in their sheathes at his back making awkward, dangerous wings at his sides, caught against the arm rests. If he’s not careful, he’s going to knock Reno out with one of them. 

Reno waits a beat, then another, biting his tongue hard enough it hurts. His hands flex, helpless but hungry to curl, clench up into fists and deflect the hurt. He should let the argument go, but he’s impulsive, reckless at the worst of times, so he says: “That’s a first.”

Cloud snorts. 

“Whatever,” Reno grits out, and flicks on the chopper’s spotlight. They’ve come back around to the coordinates where Reno first picked Strife up. It’s not hard to spot, cracked horns catching distant starlight as it raises its head, sniffing for its lost prey. He calls it in, keeps the helicopter to a safe, steady distance. 

Cloud says, “We’re not going to run out of gas or...or something, are we?”

It’s Reno’s turn to snort, distantly amused. “What, scared we’ll crash?”

“It’s not top of my list of things I’d like to do with my night, no,” is Cloud’s reply, and fuck all, but Reno’s forgotten how _sassy_ the bastard can be. Reno laughs again, a little mean but mostly genuine, and isn’t all that surprised when Cloud points out: “You laugh more than I remember.”

“I don’t really feel like killing you at the moment,” Reno drawls. “Kind of opens up my sense of humor, you know?”

“...Hm.”

Reno slants a look at him. “What? You didn’t _really_ think you knew us, did you?”

The glowing lights of the helicopter’s control panel smear across Strife in a way that’s annoyingly attractive, all gilt-edged and shadow-drenched. Reno can tell by the downward flinch of those eyebrows that whatever answer Strife thought up, isn’t one he thinks Reno will like. _Yes_ , or _I didn’t really think about it_ , probably. _Had bigger things to worry about than you_ , seems a likely response, especially since it’s pretty damned accurate. 

Reno’s honestly surprised when Cloud keeps his mouth clamped shut, lips pressed into a tight line.

“ _Well_ , lucky you,” is what Reno says eventually, if only to break the silence, uncomfortable with how defeated it feels. “We’ve both officially lived long enough for you to learn something new. Congratulations.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Cloud says, tone dry but face relaxing. “This was all I ever hoped for.”

“Big dreamer,” Reno scoffs, squinting down at the behemoth lumbering eastward beneath them. Looking at Strife right now feels like too much, so Reno just focuses on keeping them steady, one eye on the fuel gauge because they _are_ running a tad low, to be honest. It’s been a long couple of days with very few stops between. 

So he doesn’t say, _That why you settled down and became a delivery boy?_

And he doesn’t say, _What did you really hope for? Did it all turn sour like it did for me? You work and work for what you want, and then when you think you’re holding your dreams in your hands, there in your grasp, you realize that it’s not everything you hoped for, that it’s gritty and fucked up and dirty sometimes, but you’re good at it and you haven't got much choice left, have you? So you do what you have to, and don’t lie to me, I know you know that feeling, I know…_

Reno doesn’t know jackshit.

Besides, it wasn’t ever Cloud Strife who saved him. That was Rufus, as much as the boss was capable of saving anyone. That was Rude and Elena and even Tseng, but most importantly: that was simply Reno, too stubborn to lay down and die. 

All Reno really wants in this moment is to land this bird, find a bed, and sleep as long as he feels like. Instead, he trails the behemoth until nearly dawn, when they’re finally met with a ragtag clean-up team sent from the WRO. Cloud gets up from the co-pilot chair; Reno releases the rope ladder. He expects that to be it, but Cloud hesitates before taking off the headset. 

Cloud says, “Hey. Thanks. For saving me.”

Reno gives half a shrug. “Sure.”

There’s not much left of ShinRa these days, but the Turks, at least, still know how to get a job done. 

\---

There’s still a folded up flyer for Strife’s Delivery Service in Reno’s wallet. He never takes it out, never touches it or even looks at it, but it’s there all the same: a thorn in Reno’s side that he worries at, a knife between his ribs that works its way deeper and deeper. He inhales; his lungs fill, chest expanding; the wound widens into a hungry mouth, gaping wide.

\---

He keeps looking for Cloud, even after he’s found him.

Two weeks later he spots him near Cosmo Canyon. “You’re up, partner!” is all the warning he gives Rude before Reno’s out of his seat, reaching for the rifle stowed overhead. Cloud can probably handle a pack of wolves, hulking and snarling and ready to tear him limb from limb, but Reno doesn’t care—snipes a few of the stragglers and then, once he’s hit his rhythm and gotten a taste of the wind shear, knocks a big bastard out of the air just as its leaping for Cloud’s face. 

“There,” Reno mutters once the numbers are down from double digits. “Civic duty done, all hail the _conquering_ hero.” 

“Uhhh.”

“Shut up!” Reno stores the rifle, shoves Rude out of his seat, and doesn’t look back to see if Cloud or his decrepit bike have survived the last wolves. “Not a _word_. Not even a _sound_ , partner. And don’t do that, that _thing_ you do where you just fuckin’ look at me—yeah, that! That right there! No!”

Rude doesn’t investigate further, which Reno appreciates. He has no excuses, no reasonable logic behind what he’s doing. What could he offer up as an adequate explanation if questioned? _Couldn’t let an ass that fine get teeth marks in it?_ or _I still don’t have a crush, okay, it ain’t healthy enough for that shit so don’t go reading anything weird into this all right?!_

Fuck no. 

Luck’s with him the following week, at least, and Reno’s alone when he gives Cloud a lift on the rope ladder. Reno’s got a trussed up body in the back of the chopper, waiting to be dropped down a steep cliff when he sees the gleam of the sun on familiar metal—one of Cloud’s preferred swords sticking up out of the ground like some altar. It takes Reno less than an hour to find him down a nearby gorge, slowly scaling the sheer incline. The whip of the wind from the helicopter makes him curl into the crumbling bedrock, and Reno notices that he’s not wearing what he usually is—there’s a lot more leather, for one, the excess flapping in the air like dark wings, frantic for flight.

Reno gets his bird hovering at the right altitude, and goes over to release the ladder. It’s been getting more of a workout lately than it has since…

Midgar, actually.

All those bodies, all that rubble. Nice change of pace to be using it for something like this—helping Cloud Strife out of a pinch. Not that it makes Reno feel _good_ or anything. Instead, he feels a little nauseous. Guilty, like he’s indulging in something he shouldn’t. 

Probably because he is.

“Shut up,” he hisses, at himself and no one; at the corpse and Strife and every regret Reno’s ever harbored. “I’ll help him if I want to.”

Most of the ShinRa Corporation helicopters have advanced autopilot systems, but even the best are only so good—the buck and dip and shudder of his bird call Reno back to the controls, taking control, and thankfully Cloud doesn’t come knocking. Stays, as far as Reno can tell, down on the lowest rungs. Which is great, since Reno doesn’t want to engage in close quarters at the moment. For one, Cloud might question why Reno has a hog-tied body in the back, and then Reno would have to explain who Eddie is and why he’s been murdered in such an interesting way or risk a righteous blade to the engine, possibly, and _also_ , some dangerous emotion is skittering in Reno’s veins at the sight of him, at the thought of Cloud coming near, and Reno hates the toxic bubble and pop of it, a foreign poison that has his gut twisting and cramping. 

Up and up they go, back to the buried blade, and almost, _almost_ Reno is tempted to keep rising, to cut Cloud free at an altitude he can’t escape. To stamp him out, to erase his troubled and troubling existence so Reno can finally be _done_ with him.

Instead, when Cloud is safe and the ladder retracted, Reno finds an angle to stare down at him. Black leather and a bright tuft of gold on top, that’s all Cloud is at this distance. He doesn’t wave to Reno or anything like that, nothing grateful or sentimental about him. But Reno knows he’s staring back. It makes a flutter happen in the base of Reno’s throat, and he hates it, _hates it_ , so he reaches for the throttle and tilts the cyclic, leaving Cloud behind to find his bike, or call his friends—whatever it is he does when Reno’s not there, stupidly lending a hand.

It shouldn’t matter that he was looking back. Not like Reno’s expression would have been any more recognizable at that difference, after all. Except...those SOLDIER-style enhancements. Maybe he _could_ see Reno, hair a greasy mess and bags under his eyes, not enough sleep to make up for all these hours in the sky. 

Not that Cloud would care about whether or not Reno’s on a charity mission. Not that Reno should care about him caring. 

For fuck’s _sake_ , this is ridiculous.

Reno flies until he finds a different gorge, far from where he left Cloud. Sets the system to hover again, long enough for him to roll Eddie’s corpse out, free-falling through the air. He disappears from sight before he hits bottom—either rock or water, Reno doesn’t know. He takes the controls once more and flies for home, clean-up done.

\---

It’s only a few days later that Reno sees Cloud riding without trouble on a long stretch of road near Rocket Town. Reno hasn’t caught up on sleep in the interim. Now that the shock of Meteorfall is finally fading, Rufus has them all working double time to keep up the good PR. So Reno doesn’t think—and isn’t that his biggest problem? He thinks too much about the things he can’t change, and doesn’t think enough about the ones he _could_ —he just picks up enough speed to outpace him and then lands so his bird is right in the middle of the road, ready and waiting.

Strife skids to a roaring, showy stop, because of course he does. “Looking for a fight?” he asks, lifting a hand back to touch the hilt of a sword. 

“Nah,” Reno drawls. “Looking for a fuck, actually.”

The open bloom of surprise on Cloud’s face is hysterical, but Reno’s got fire under his skin, heart hammering away at the risk, the reckless grace with which he’d shown his hand. He might get a fight; he might just get a dismissal. Hard to tell, but Reno’s hit on enough strangers in his life to know how fast shit can go south, and this—this right here—

Reno can’t laugh.

He thinks he might want Cloud Strife more than he’s wanted anyone else in his life. There’s something brutal about the desire, hot and blustering like the wind across cracked, arid earth, a heat that smothers and steals your breath. Reno doesn’t hate Strife anymore, but he still hates _this_ : the control the other man has on him, a leash that tugs and pulls and commands, and one that Cloud has _no idea_ even exists. 

If this keeps up he’ll break open, burst like a rotting melon. Or he might really kill Cloud next time, just to make it stop. 

“You...”

Reno’s got the helicopter’s door open, is perched on the edge of the floor with his legs spread wide and loose in front of him, weight braced on one arm so he can lean back. Deceptively casual. Utterly desperate. Reno doesn’t know how to make himself more open, less barbed; this is the best he can do, laying himself out like he’s asking for it, hoping the offer is received loud and clear.

“What?” Reno asks. “What about me?”

“You’re joking.” Cloud frowns, shifting on his feet. His hand is nowhere near his sword now, flexing awkwardly at his sides. 

Reno smiles lazily. “I like the new look, by the way. _Very_ sexy. I don’t have a leather fetish, personally, but it’s _much_ better than what you used to wear. How easily does it all come off?”

“The _fuck_.”

With his free hand, Reno gestures at his own crotch. “That’s what I’m offering, keep _up_ , won’t you?”

Cloud looks irritated, confused, pissed off like he doesn’t believe Reno at all; as if this is some kind of game. And maybe it is, but the stakes are high and terrifying, and Reno doesn't know how to play, doesn’t care what the rules are—he just _wants_. 

“I’m not joking,” Reno says. 

Cloud stares.

 _Keep looking at me_ , Reno thinks, and then he wonders if Cloud can see the jump of Reno’s pulse in his bared neck, the flutter of his heart made bare, his need transparent. The very idea of it makes him swallow hard, and he lets Cloud see that, too. _See me, look at me, just keep your eyes on me, you bastard, don’t you dare look the fuck away_.

\---

“I just want things to be simple,” Cloud mutters, petulant and tired and into the sweaty skin of Reno’s neck right where it slopes into his shoulder. Reno sighs, drapes an arm across the vulnerable expanse of Cloud’s back. He’s heavy, a weight that has Reno pinned down, kept in place. Nowhere left to run.

“Yeah, yeah,” Reno mumbles back. 

\---

Cloud looks away, obviously uncomfortable.

“We’re not friends,” he says.

“Fuck no,” Reno agrees, still open, still waiting, furious that Cloud has looked away. “We ain’t anything, Strife. Not _yet_. C’mon, man, don’t tell me you don’t get lonely out here, riding around on that bike with no one and nothing for company?”

“I’m fine,” Cloud says.

Reno rolls his eyes. “You’re not fucking _fine_. I doubt you’ve been fine your whole damned life, Strife. But I’m not _asking_ you to be. You can be fucked up and we can still fuck—”

“Do you _ever_ shut up?!”

“—so what d’you say, hm? Wanna release some tension the old fashioned way?”

Cloud shakes his head, shoulders all tight and bunched with mounting discomfort. Reno likes it. Wants to get up and circle Cloud, see how wound up and wire-tight he can get him, how riled up and helpless. But it’s too soon, too much to ask for, and Reno isn’t surprised when Cloud takes a step back and then another, angling towards his bike.

“Aw,” he forces himself to say, disappointment making for a bitter, nasty twang. “You running away?”

“I…Why would you even…”

“Why _what_?”

Again, Cloud shakes his head. Reaches his bike and stares at the seat, the handlebars, the packages strapped securely to the back. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he grits out. “That you would want that with...me.”

It makes Reno laugh.

“Fuck off,” Cloud snaps, face flushing all at once: shame, misery, something else indefinable, but Reno loves it, _loves it_ , the way he’s managed to slip beneath Cloud’s skin and dig in, apparently, deep enough to pull out a reaction.

Reno laughs louder, sharp and electric. “I know, right?” he offers once he can speak again. “Trust me, _I know_.”

Cloud is staring again.

This might be all Reno ever gets, he realizes: a single moment where Cloud is too surprised, too perplexed, to walk away. Best to take advantage of it, in that case. All the cards are already on the table, so—so why _not_ , he thinks, and starts unbuckling his belt.

“You...what are you doing?”

“Proving it,” Reno says, still smiling, still laughing, barbed and breathless. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything. If you’re too much a coward or whatever—yeah, just stand there, baby, keep your eyes on me. Yeah, yeah, like _that_ —”

Cloud says, “I’m not a coward.”

Reno pulls his dick free, half-hard in his sweaty palm. “Whatever, I don’t even fucking care.” 

But Reno does care, is the thing. He cares that Cloud hasn’t stormed away; that he’s staring, watching, that he’s _looking_. That he keeps looking, mako-stained eyes darting from Reno’s face to his chest to his hand on the crown of his cock. His flush doesn’t fade; a muscle in Cloud’s jaw clenches. He stands there just like Reno told him to, watching Reno fall apart. And when it’s done, when Reno’s chest is heaving and his hand is sticky, Cloud’s voice is a wrecked and wretched thing as he asks: “We done?”

“That’s up to you,” Reno drawls. 

\---

Tuesti’s expertise comes through in the burgeoning city of Edge. Reno comes alive whenever he visits, thrumming with memories, with the promise of a new future. He walks the streets, takes in the scrapped together buildings, the markets, the hollowed out faces turned cautiously hopeful. Wanders along until he hits their version of Wall Market.

“Hey, Reno,” says a woman, leaning down from a nearby balcony and smirking. “Got 20 Gil?”

“Nah,” Reno smirks back. “Not today.”

But he climbs the rickety stairs that lead up to the balcony and sits with her. Asks, “Any more trouble?” as he sips a glass of lemonade, the two of them pretending like they’re something respectable and mundane, simple citizens in a world unbroken. A nice afternoon, something tart and refreshing to chase away the dry heat.

“Not since Eddie,” Breta says, eyes sharp and roving. “Though...we got someone new that came in last week.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. Wants to open up a bar. She’s a nice girl, but…”

Reno glances at her, alert and ready despite how he lounges. Breta’s come a long way since she first offered him a blow job only weeks after she’d lost everything and everyone she’d ever known. Mostly by her own cunning, though Reno’s helped here and there—like with Eddie, a wannabe Don Corneo if there ever was one.

He says, “You need her gone?”

Slowly, Breta shakes her head. “There’s something about her, but I don’t think it’s anything bad. I just...hm. Tell me, what do you know about Tifa Lockhart?”

Reno chokes on his lemonade.

\---

He finds him out in the exact middle of nowhere. Not on any roads, not heading for any obvious destination. Reno sent him a text full of typos and exclamation marks and got nothing in response, so he unearthed the GPS coordinates of Cloud’s PHS and went hunting. What he discovers is a little camp, a fire blazing like a beacon in the night.

“Well now,” Reno mocks as he stomps near. “Isn’t this fucking quaint. For fuck’s _sake_ , Cloud, couldn’t you pick a city with a decent hotel for once?!”

“Needed some quiet,” Cloud grunts, not bothering to move. 

He’s laid out on his back with his arms folded behind his head, looking about as peaceful as he ever gets. Reno kicks his boot. “Why didn’t you tell me Tifa was setting up in Edge?”

Somehow, Cloud manages to shrug even while lying down. “You told me to check it out.”

“I—what?”

“First time we met,” Cloud continues, and _fuck him_ , the bastard’s eyes are still closed, as if Reno is of such little significance that he can’t even be bothered to _look at him_. Reno’s tempted to kick him again, more savagely this time, except: “After Meteorfall. You told me to check it out if I was near, so I did.”

“As if you care what I think,” Reno says.

Cloud’s eyes blink open, an annoyed furrow between his brows. “Yeah,” he says, tone dipping rough, catching against annoyance. “If only.”

“Huh,” is all Reno can manage, because Cloud left that day on the road to Rocket Town rather than finish what Reno started. He leaves every time, unwilling to be caught no matter what Reno says, what he tries, how often he helps or hinders Cloud in his pursuits. What little Cloud has given him—stilted conversation, gruff thanks, his number in case of emergencies—has only infuriated and depressed Reno in turns, a cycle he hasn’t been able to break.

The campfire hisses and pops, raging bright against the dark.

“I don’t know how to deal with you,” Cloud says.

Reno raises a single, mocking eyebrow. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you don’t know how to deal with _anything_. Isn’t that why you’re always running?”

“I’m not running.”

“You are,” Reno says, soft and sweetly lethal. “You always run. Aren’t you tired of it yet?”

He must be, because he’s still down in the dirt staring up at Reno. Eyes that should have been lost in shadows are bright and searching, and Reno moves to stand directly over him, feet on either side of Cloud’s narrow hips. He asks, “What do you _really_ want, Cloud?”

“I don’t...I don’t know.”

Reno lowers to his knees, as graceful as he ever is in the midst of a fight, electricity wild beneath his skin. Watches Cloud swallow hard, the motion exposed; he’s as laid out as Reno was that first time, asking for it without words, armed and barricaded but trying, _trying_ to let Reno in. It’s enough to make him feel wild, violent—utterly ravenous.

Slowly, carefully, he places a hand atop Cloud’s chest, pressing down over where his heart beats. Then he leans in, hard and harder, pressing down like he can crack Cloud’s sternum in two, press through the meat of him to reach inside and _take_ what he wants.

But he can’t take it; that’s not enough.

“It’s an easy question to answer,” Reno lies, because nothing about them is anything less than complicated. “I want you. I want everything you have to give me, _all of it_. So tell me: do you want me, too?”

Beneath his palm, Cloud’s breathing has gone ragged.

He says “Yes,” like it hurts him.

It probably does. 

\---

“I just want things to be simple,” Cloud mutters days, weeks, months later, petulant and tired and into the sweaty skin of Reno’s neck right where it slopes into his shoulder. Reno sighs, drapes an arm across the vulnerable expanse of Cloud’s back. He’s heavy, a weight that has Reno pinned down, kept in place. Nowhere left to run and yet somehow _exactly_ where he wants to be.

“Yeah, yeah,” Reno mumbles back. “But you gotta admit, it’d be boring if they were.”

\---  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed (':


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